


Destruction is the final joy of creation

by neierathima



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Castration, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Ethics, Ghosts, Gore, Hallucinations, M/M, Medical Procedures, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neierathima/pseuds/neierathima
Summary: Hannibal will have Will forever. Every part of him will become part of Hannibal.Please read the warnings it is as it says on the cover.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	1. Commitment

**Author's Note:**

> For my Hannibal Valentines Day bingo. It went in a very different direction than intended. 
> 
> Thank you stoic_swan for the bingo card! 
> 
> Thanks (or blame ;) to twinky666/ catboy for the prompt idea. 
> 
> More tags to be added, and let me know if I missed any.

_Will beneath him, moaning, writhing. Glorious in his unrestrained desire._

Hannibal had intended something different when he first realized the danger of Will Graham’s clever mind. But then the man had sent soft, wanting eyes in his direction and he had not been able to resist the temptation. 

_Curls soaked in sweat, laid out against the emerald green of Hannibal's pillow. Face turned toward heaven, eyes closed as if in prayer, tears on the swells of his cheeks._

It was Will who had proposed keeping it a secret. Who had been afraid to share this delicate thing between them with the unkind world. Hannibal loved secrets. All the better to be prepared for anything that might later occur. 

_Creamy skin shined with perspiration. Calloused hands wrapped around Hannibal’s, holding tight. Will's chest moved heavily._

He found the level of intrigue unnecessary but Will would insist. Driving to pick him up in Wolf Trap then taking him home to Baltimore to feed and ply with liquor before luring him to bed again. 

_Stomach already stained with his own cum, Will's half hard cock still valiantly tried to reawaken from the pleasure Hannibal was giving him._

The longer it went on between them the less Hannibal liked this game. It would be useful to be able to deny Will should he become suspicious, but Hannibal was no longer sure he wanted to. 

_Strong legs around him as Hannibal fucked deeper into Will, the tightness, the heat, for him and him alone._

To stand together at the sight of murders - some of them Hannibal’s own - and not be able to claim that brilliant mind as his own. 

_Wills eyes opened, rolling in his head, unfocused._

To be forced to watch Jack and Alana try to mold Will into their own images when only Hannibal had any real right to him. 

_Will's legs tightened around his waist, heels beating against his back._

No, this state of affairs was no longer to be tolerated. Will was for Hannibal alone. 

_Will clawed at his wrists, his arms, his shoulders. Hannibal took in every struggled breath, every small pain from his beloved’s nails._

There would be no others. Will would not look at another murder, another lover, another person. There would be only Hannibal. Will would never leave him.

_Blood streamed down his arms onto Will’s face and neck. Anointing him as Hannibal’s consort._

The world did not deserve Will and so it would not have him. 

_Hannibal climaxed as the last death throes shook Will’s body. Gently, he uncurled his hands from around Will’s throat, now adorned with bruises and the imprint of Hannibal’s hands. He pulled his cock from Will’s body reluctantly, even as it began to cool uncomfortably beneath him._

Will was his now. Entirely his. Forever. 

_His work was only just beginning._


	2. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the new tags. 
> 
> These chapters are in no particular order chronologically.

It was only a few days after Hannibal had taken Will for his own, before he had even missed an appointment, that Jack called him. The conversation went as Hannibal had planned. Agent Crawford asked with feigned casualness if Hannibal had seen or spoken to Will since his last appointment. Hannibal had not, but he was so very worried about the profiler. Will had expressed some concerning sentiments about himself and his work. Not enough to cause Hannibal to act, nothing that would invite suspicion on his methods or his ethics. Just enough to hint. And oh, what about the dogs? Will would think first about the dogs, when he returned. No no, Jack had told him. The dogs had been left with a great deal of food and a half open door. They had gone to a neighbor. They were quite safe. 

Hannibal, of course, would never harm something so important to his beloved. 

Jack left the conversation with reassurances to Hannibal that he would update him as soon as they found anything, confident in Hannibal’s honesty and concern for his unofficial patient. 

It was very important to Hannibal that no misguided investigations risked separating him from Will now that they were finally together. 

~~~

Over two weeks later, at Will’s usual appointment time, Alana came to his office door. 

Hannibal had left her and the FBI to their investigation, without Will there he had little interest in them. Still, Alana was a useful friend to have, especially as the likelihood of finding Will Graham alive (or at all) decreased. 

He had expected her to be frightened. He had expected the guilt. He had anticipated her entering the first stages of grief, the mingled fear and hope of what fate awaited Will. It was cruel of him to deny her the knowledge that Will was safe and truly happy now, but that was not hers to have. 

Hannibal had not prepared for the imprint Will had left on her, the tangible presence his absence had wrought on the lovely Dr. Bloom. Through Alana he could almost see a shadow of his lover. 

Alana was frightened, and she wanted comfort, and she trusted Hannibal to give it to her. She stood close to him, leaning into his strength, suggesting but not outright asking for a kind human touch. 

Hannibal had long been anticipating the potential usefulness of Alana as an alibi, and he had trained his body accordingly. 

The bare first stirrings of arousal began in his loins in response to her pheromones.

He stepped back abruptly, almost rudely.

Such a betrayal of the vows he had made with Will was unacceptable.

If his body could not be trusted he would overcome it.

~~~

The supplies had been easy enough to procure. Hannibal had to admit there had been a few moments of hesitation before enacting his plan. Then the voice of his beloved had whispered into his ear, words of affirmation and love and gratitude. He could not disappoint Will. 

Wrapping the elastic bands around his testicles was easy. A minor procedure in the life of a talented surgeon. The waiting was harder. 

The first pain had been intense, but Hannibal bore it, though not without the assistance of analgesics. As he waited for his scrotum and testes to wither and die, Hannibal stroked his limp cock, wallowing in the pain and remember the times he had filled Will’s ass and mouth with he seed. There would be no one for him but Will ever again. He would remain true to his lover. 

Even after it was done and his removed organs had been placed with Will’s body the pain lingered. It was nearly two months before he could function normally without medication but it was a small price to pay to show his loyalty to the man that whispered in his dreams.


	3. Candlelight Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delayed from yesterday. Oops.

Hannibal had carefully stripped Will’s body of every usable part and stored it in his freezers. But some preparation of the skeleton was necessary for his final Becoming. No part of Will must be wasted. He was no rude swine to be picked at then discarded. Hannibal intended to honor every part of him. 

It had been many years since Hannibal had a cochlear garden and he had learned a great deal since his boyhood. The correct live snails had been slightly harder to acquire, regulations being what they were, but he had amassed enough to begin breeding. He made sure they were free of parasites and the enclosure was environmentally correct for their needs. Will deserved nothing but the most careful attention. 

His lovers voice whispered to him most loudly in this corner of his basement, the heat and humidity bringing sweat to Hannibal's lips as he worked.

Patience was required. 

***  
One night, in honor of Will’s birthday, he goes down to the basement garden. 

Carefully inspecting the snails, Hannibal caressed a spot of bare bone on Will’s femur. It would be a long while yet before his lover’s skeleton would be completely clean and ready for the next part of his journey. 

In the meantime, he selected a half dozen snails ready for consumption, grown fat and tender on Will’s flesh. 

Hannibal carefully prepared the snails, cooking them and cleaning their shells. 

Fresh garlic, shallots, and parsley from the farmers market. Imported salt. Hand churned butter from a small local dairy. A dry white wine too good for cooking, but this was Will he was serving. 

Every step in the cooking process a display of skill and love. 

He set the table carefully. Two places, between them a polished white skull surrounded by cut roses. Candles surrounding them the only light in the room.   
A presentation of shells set in a bed of coarse salt. Homemade baguette to accompany the dish and a wine he had been saving for a special occasion. 

Escargots à la Bourguignonne: a classic, simple recipe suited to Will’s taste. 

Hannibal brought the wine up, closing his eyes to breath in the aroma, and when he opened them, the seat across from him was no longer empty. An image of chiaroscuro only, lacking sharp features, but very clearly his beloved.

He smiles at Will and begins his meal.


	4. Outsider POV

As the months passed after he and Will came together, Hannibal gave less and less attention to the workings of the FBI. If they were going to come for him, they would have already. Will had been declared first missing, then presumed dead. Speculation in the FBI and in the tabloids had been wild and largely inaccurate. Even Freddie Lounds had not gone so far as to suggest that Will might have run off with a mysterious lover. Though it protected them, Hannibal was offended on Will’s behalf that they would all believe it so unlikely for the man to have a relationship. 

He maintained his work schedule and a more limited social one. It had been difficult at first to go anywhere without Will. The pigs that made up the world outside their home seemed so much louder and stupider than they had before. But eventually he had begun to hear Will speaking with him even outside, sly comments on the attendees at an event, keen analysis of his patients, annoyed huffs at Hannibal’s grocery shopping. It made it all bearable. 

Alana Bloom was a connection that he did not allow to fade entirely. After that first unfortunate meeting where he had nearly betrayed himself and Will both, he had made sure to keep an appropriate distance. Yet the feeling that some part of Will clung to Alana did not lessen and so Hannibal could not give her up entirely. 

Finally, the FBI investigation is taken off the list of priorities. It remained officially open but no one was actively assigned to it. That announcement brought Alana to his office door. 

He served her wine and allowed her to speak, ranting against the FBI for abandoning Will, against Jack Crawford for putting Will in such a dangerous position, against Will himself for leaving. She was incoherent in grief and her angry was aimed in no particular direction. Finally, rage gave way to tears as she sat curled in Will’s chair and quietly confessed. 

“Sometimes, in the middle of the night, before I can fully wake up I swear I hear his voice. Then I finish waking up and it’s gone.” 

Hannibal went through the appropriate motions to comfort her but inside he raged. No one was permitted any part of Will but him. Alana had to die.

****

Whatever she expected on waking tied up in a basement it was not Hannibal in a blue windowpane suit covered in plastic. For a moment, she was so shocked by the absurd sight she almost forgot the situation she was in. 

“Hannibal. What is going on. How did I get here.“

She had gone to bed as normal, alone. And now she was naked and tied up on some kind of cold metal table in a dimly lit room, Hannibal looming over her. 

He looked different. A gleam of sweat covered his brow and his gaze was distant. He tilted his head as if listening to someone speak but the room was deathly quiet aside from her panicked breathing. 

When he finally focused on her there was something in his eyes she had never seen before. 

“My dear Alana, I am sorry it has come to this. But you have too much of my Will and we can no longer allow that.”

He spoke perfectly calmly, as if he was cancelling dinner plans and not threatening her. She had spoken to many delusional people in her career and Hannibal was well past worrying and into frightening. And he had mentioned Will.

“Do you know what happened to Will? Is he alive? Please, Hannibal, where is he?” 

“Will is with me always.”

He roughly turned her on the table to face the opposite wall. In a soft but well lit corner of the room was some kind of altar. A skull, most of the vertebra and some ribs. Half of one arm. All carefully hung for anatomical correctness. Surrounding them were an array of flowers, horns and feather, the kind of things she was used to seeing in Hannibal’s centerpieces. Behind the partial skeleton hung a life size drawing of Will done in grayscale but for the vivid blue eyes. 

She closed her eyes tightly, trying not to vomit. 

_“Oh god, oh god.”_

Alana began to cry.

Later, she screamed.


	5. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to those still reading. Having some muse trouble but I'm back with a little more. Hope you enjoy!

Though Hannibal had never felt closer to Will than he had since their joining he still felt something missing. Not at their home but when he was in public. People saw him alone and assumed he was alone. They even sometimes - rudely, indecently - made unwelcome overtures to him. There was, however, a commonly accepted method of advertising that one was not available romantically. 

The first ring he selected was elegant and simple, a single platinum band of the highest quality, and a matching one for Will. It was very much to his taste and Will’s, and yet it did not sit quite right on his hand. 

Unfortunately, while at a professional conference, he found that even a ring was insufficient warning for some pigs. Still, as he was butchering the swine for a rich bone marrow soup, Hannibal had a better idea than the metal ring. 

He had most of the necessary equipment already and the finer tools were easy enough to acquire. Hannibal practiced first on the pig he already had, unwilling to risk any part of Will to a lack of skill and practice. 

He carefully drill the bone down the size and shape of a ring, smoothing the edges and then carving into the delicate surface. 

It was good he had practice with bones that didn’t matter, as he found it required a very light touch and a great deal of patience. 

Eventually, Hannibal was ready to work on his true object. He ran his hands over every piece of Will before selecting a section that a lost inch would hardly be noticed. 

This carving required the utmost attention. No mistake was acceptable. 

When finished, he placed the smooth ring on his hand - not his left ring finger, as that would invite unwanted questions from his colleagues - but the middle finger next to it. The ring fit perfectly, snug against his skin as if it had always been there. Hannibal felt complete. Will was with him always. 

That night, he stroked his soft cock with his left hand, eyes closed, imagining Will, warm and alive next to him. He could almost feel breath against his neck, another hand over his. 

_"Hannibal"_


	6. Flower Shop

The employees at _Lilacs Last_ take great enjoyment from sharing stories of customers, both good and bad, with each other. One of their favorite regulars is Will Lecktor. He comes in once a week on Saturday morning, orders one very elaborate arrangement, pays cash, is unfailingly polite, and carefully refuses to respond to any of their hints as to what he does with the flowers. Speculation about him is wild. The Saturday opening shift has gone from almost impossible to staff to one of the most coveted schedules. A rotation had to be set up to keep things fair. 

The current assumptions are that he’s either married (“He doesn’t wear a ring!” “He does on his middle finger it’s clearly a wedding band.” “He could be single!”) or partnered (“He’s gay.” “He could like women.” “Look at the suits, he’s totally gay.” ) or possibly even widowed (“I think he’s too happy to be widowed.” “Yeah but he’s always alone.” “Well it’s not a surprise if he brings them with him.” “But if he’s widowed then he’s available right?”). He’s definitely buying the flowers for someone, always so careful in making his selections. 

Some weeks, he comes in looking a little sad, and they wonder if there was a fight or if he really is a widow. 

Other times, he comes in twice in one week, practically beaming, and tips even more than he usually does. 

For almost a year they are delighted and intrigued and occasionally concerned by the handsome man in the fancy suits that comes once a week to buy flowers for his lover. 

Until one week, he doesn’t come. They aren’t too worried because maybe he decided to sleep in. Then another and another and a month has passed and they are worried. Someone even suggests calling in a missing persons, but really, you can’t be missing just because you didn’t buy flowers for a while. 

Until one day, one of them pulls up tattle crime and sees an expose on the late Chesapeake Ripper, one Hannibal Lecter. 

Soon they are all crowded around the computer screen trying to read. “How did he die?” “It doesn’t say.” “Is that really…?” “Yeah it’s him look at the suit.” “Whose blood is that?” “Whose skeleton is that!?” 

Eventually, one of them asks if they should call the FBI or the cops or something. Wouldn’t they want to know more about his activities? Maybe it could be important or something. They search for a bit and find an FBI tip line and make the call. 

A few weeks go by and everyone pretends things are normal. They all keep up with the articles on tattle crime and then the real news outlets but no one talks about the Man Who Comes In Once A Week. 

Eventually, the owner calls them all in on a Saturday and a large man in a suit asks them questions one by one. Shows them a picture. Yes, that’s him. No, he never gave them his real name. Yes, he always paid cash. No, he never said who the flowers were for. One by one it’s all the same questions and it’s all the same answers. 

After they are questioned they huddle together in the front of the shop, whispering and waiting. When they are all finished the FBI agent goes to leave and one of them gets brave enough to ask. 

“Do you know who the flowers were for?”

The man looks haunted. They regret asking at all. 

“Yeah. Yeah I do. Thanks for your time.” 

He leaves, and the employees of _Lilacs Last_ quietly go back to work.


End file.
